A little after noon, Harris arrived at Panache, a bridal salon in Beverly Hills. Two dresses, both by the designer Romona Keveza, had been sent from New York. A saleswoman accompanied Harris into a dressing room. Kellie Olisky, a Playboy publicist and default wedding planner, was sitting in a red velvet chair, typing e-mails on a Droid. The first dress—blush pink, strapless, and mermaid-like, with silk-organza rosettes on the lower part—drew gasps. Harris spun around on a pedestal surrounded by mirrors. “Do you want to walk down the runway?” a saleswoman asked, pointing to a raised red carpet that led to another set of mirrors. “You can see yourself from a distance.” The second dress—ivory, strapless, with a fuller bell at the bottom—did not draw the same level of gasps. “I like the other one,” Harris said. She considered a possible reception dress and four bridesmaid dresses. (“One sister is in Idaho,” Olisky said. “She might need a sleeve.”) The palette was to be low-key. “We want to have everything very muted—on the tablecloths, silver and white, and maybe a blush underlay,” Olisky said. “That way, it stays very romantic.”

This dress bit sounds like it was a pretty typical bride-shopping-for-dresses excursion (that is, with the New Yorker magazine tagging along) but when she visits the cake shop, we learn a bit more about the age difference between Hugh and Crystal. I mean, it’s obvious that an 84 year old and a 24 year old are separated by a massively expansive number of years but … well, read on to see what I mean:

Next stop: Hansen Cakes, on Fairfax. On the street, a window belonging to a different bakery briefly caught Harris’s attention. It displayed a cake in the shape of breasts in a push-up bra. “Wait, do we want a boob cake?” she said. Inside the Hansen Cakes showroom, cake replicas stood on banquet tables. Decisions on shape were made swiftly: round rather than square; four tiers rather than three; stacked layers rather than columns. Choosing a filling was trickier. “Strawberry’s good,” Harris said. “Like, cake that has strawberries in it? So good. And Hef likes that kind, too. He eats the same thing every day. He has chicken-noodle soup every day at five o’clock.” “Lipton’s,” Olisky said. It was decided that white-chocolate shavings, an echo of the rosettes on the dress, would make the best cake décor. “The whole theme of it is going to be very romantic,” Olisky said. While Olisky took pictures of Harris eating forkfuls of cake, Monique Hansen, the shop’s owner, put a few pieces in a box for the groom. “I’ve been selling Hef cakes for years,” she said. “Hef’s had a lot of cake.”

Oh yes, I’m sure Hef‘s had quite his fair share of cakes over the 8 decades of his life … and quite a bit of Lipton’s chicken-noodle soup, too, I’d imagine. I really hope that Crystal is enjoying her role as Hef‘s fiancée and eventual (I hope) wife. She will forever have the distinction as being the last woman in Hugh Hefner‘s life … which is quite an honor, I guess.